Regression
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: AU. Changes were supposed to relieve boredom, not reinforce it.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Finally, a fan_fic_ instead of a fan-poetry or a fan-play. And multi-chap too. Hopefully, I'll update about once a month. Feel free to bug me if I stray _too_ far from that. Past the ninth of each month for the time being.

* * *

_**Regression**_

_Prologue_

Unfocused eyes drifted over the green spread lawn, picking out specks of brown and grey littering the freshly mowed grass. The thin strands trembled slightly in the breeze, bending and arching their backs in a way that became almost sensual during a moment of extreme boredom. And he _had_ to be desperate, watching blades of grass dance to the spring's wind; summer was still a ways off, but that didn't prevent the green from drying into a dry brown.

Raito sighed, flicking a stray strand of brown hair as it obscured the image, before repeating the action as the teacher called upon him. Despite the journey upon which his concentration had embarked, it took little more than a split second for him to realign his mind and scan the chalked English scrawl upon the blackboard.

'Yagami-kun. Please read this out to us.' The teacher tapped on the blackboard, apparently ignorant to the inattention.

In a monotone, Raito read out the sentence, the words passing through his mind as quickly as they passed before his eyes. The lips moved with little conscious thought; he didn't bother registering the sounds that fell from them. He'd read the book enough times in the past to have its contents memorised.

That wasn't the only familiar thing. The teacher nodded with a look that bordered between expectancy and admiration before returning to the class. Raito's gaze drifted back to the window.

He really must have been desperate if the blades of drying grass were hoarding his attention. But even that was failing; he was sure that, given a pencil and a piece of paper, he could recreate the plant to the cell.

Instead, all he had was his meticulously neat note-book.

His eyes drooped as another student stuttered through the same statement he had flown through with ease. He raised a palm to support his chin before that followed, pulling on a mask of attentiveness. He wasn't truly engaged though; he knew the material already…unlike his classmates, the majority struggling through one of Nietzsche's simplest ideals. One knocked over his stack of books, a mischievous grin hiding the strain. The teacher simply shook his head and moved on.

An innocent action, but if _he_ attempted that, the adults would probably act as though the apocalypse was coming. Either that or they would question his sanity and lock him in a mental institution.

There was nothing stimulating about a mental institution. In any case, his life had become so firmly engrained that if he did lift a hand to push the novels, unconscious instinct would be enough to restrain him. While groundbreaking, it was nothing motivating. Nothing thought-provoking.

In fact, it wasn't even worth considering for action.

He turned his head slightly to stare at the lawn again. It didn't even seem worth appealing to some non-existent deity of time to bring forth the end of school. Cram followed, then a trip to the library and the re-borrowing of a simple book many classed as "ingenious", and then back to his house. His house where his mother cooks her content meals, his sister begs him for academic help and his father arrives ten minutes into dinner, working off his tie and shoes as he steps through the door. Occasionally, they would have a guest, but Sachiko was organised enough to plan weeks in advanced so it never came as a surprise. Sayu broke the rules often enough for it to be expected to hear an extra giggle behind closed doors as he flies through his homework. The only unexpected thing that ever occurred was when his father got caught up with a difficult case that held him up at the agency.

Unfortunately, difficult by the definition of the NPA meant a couple of additional hours with his assistance. So far, no deduction had taken more than three; it was only springing the trap on occasion that was painfully slow. Of course, the Chief never allowed him so close to danger, letting a mix of parental responsibility and that towards civilians prevent field experience. 'There would be plenty of time for that,' Soichiro claimed, 'once you've finished your education and enter the NPA.'

The problem was, truthfully, that he had plenty of time _now_. And all he could do was listen to things he already knew and take in sights his eyes had seen thousands of times before.

Maybe if he had just started out differently. But back when he was a kid, being a genius had been exciting.

It was just too bad it got old too fast.

The blade of grass knelled over as a single drop landed upon its back. The brown eyes did not waver at the sight. A second drop landed on the windowsill, then several more as they blurred the image outside.

It was spring, and it was raining…just as the meteorology bureau had forecasted. Raito sighed again as he stared at the sight, new yet as familiar as all else in the world. It truly was a dreary world when even the weather was predictable.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Whoops. Completely skipped last month's update. Well, no-one complained like with my other fandoms so I guess it's alright – I didn't leave a cliffhanger for a year at least. :) (it was once!)

IMPORTANT: NO MONTHLY UPDATES FOR OCTOBER

The time will be used to catch up on my weekly updates, get my backlog back up in time for the half of exams in November, and deal with my practical overload for what remains of the semester. Hopefully, I'll be all sorted out in time for November, but that depends on my exam timetable so it's possible updates may still be delayed.

Enjoy. :)

* * *

**_Regression_**

_Chapter 1_

The only reason he could hypothesise being the cause of his continued presence on the tennis courts was that he simply had nothing better to do in the hour slot between his final period of Thursdays and the time he arrived home on every other school day. He had cram school three days a week and Tuesdays were taken up by chess – another endeavour that simply passed time. It had been years since he'd found a challenging match, many more so since he'd actually lost a game and that was the year he had begun to play. There was nothing to it though once the basics were down: a simple endeavour of tactical stratagem. Tennis was much the same; it simply involved more physical exertion.

School on the other hand, either one, was an enigma in itself. Its purpose was to teach, to create an environment for learning and intellectual growth. But the truth was he learnt very little nowadays. Most of it was repetitive and, on the whole, unstimulating exercises. He would be profoundly surprised if his cognitive input reached up to the level of the cerebral cortex. Even the classes labelled as challenging failed to reach such a threshold. He couldn't recall the last time he had actually given a class his utmost attention; he let his thoughts drift to all ends of the globe and still recalled each spoken and written world with a painful clarity. In those times, sometimes he watched a classmate doodle "art" upon a corner of their notebooks, or scrawling down hare-brained ideas that somehow later developed into "poetry", and he'd wish he had some of that creative quality to speed up the current of time.

He hoped the world outside education had more to offer. All expected him to follow in his father's footsteps, and when he was a child – and perhaps up to his first years of adolescence, his father's job and title had been like God incarnate. As a Chief of Police and one of the most influential members of the Japanese Task Force, Yagami Soichiro was the epitome of justice both in the workforce and in the home. And his work provided a healthy dose of mental stimulation at the age.

It was a sad fact though that human nature too was rather predictable. Playing tennis with different people seemed no different than playing multiple matches with the same, and after a few years most cases his father brought home resembled the same sort of pattern. And even the library was running out of material to entertain him.

And the racket he held? It felt as natural and worn as any pen in his hand – more so actually as pens had to be often replaced. He was pedantic however; obsessive, some others dared to call him. He used the same type of pen; they felt the same in his grip. He'd tried others; they didn't perform as well. Last as well. Not that the ones he used were a _whole_ lot better.

The racket didn't require replacing nearly as often. Even less when it was met with little opposition. The racket held had been through weeks of matches thus far, but it looked as new as the day it was purchased. He flexed his wrist and the racket swung with the ease of an additional appendage.

The upper-classman before him attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to hide his anxiety. It was easily evident however; even the most obtuse of people could spot the additional tension in the serving swing and the extra force backing the ball.

It didn't take any additional effort to work out a strategic return-swing. Not a victorious one; he had time to kill. Not a particularly challenging one; he didn't want his opponent conceding within the first minute of their match. But not too straight-forward a return either; there was no need to unnecessarily inflate someone's ego.

The effort required was so insignificant in retrospect that he failed to notice it took a little more on his part to return a strike of the same calibre as he intended.

He did notice though the other's biceps straining under the clinging shirt as he reached out to strike the ball back.

He was ready for the return before the other's racket even hit the ball.

* * *

'Great game, Yagami-kun.'

_No, it really wasn't._ Raito forced a smile on his face however: the natural looking model student look. He took the hand proffered to him and shook it, exchanging a customary bow as was normal after the conclusion of any match, friendly or otherwise.

The bow was returned amidst cheers and cries from the straggled crowd that had come to watch. The usual crowd, mostly people who had nothing better to do with their Thursday afternoons. It wasn't particularly clever, the brunette reflected as he gracefully disentangled himself from the immediate scene and began to pack up his racket.

It felt slightly warm to the touch, but not overly so. He hadn't needed to work it quite hard, but the trickles of sweat rolling down his back told another story. It was easy to blame it on the sun; in colloquial terms, it was hot enough for skin to roast. Summer was upon them after all; soon, they would split off for their break. _Perhaps slightly hotter,_ he mused to himself as he wiped his face with a towel and slowly drank from his bottle. Not water, although he noted his _sempai_ opponent doing so, but an electrolyte solution that replaced the salts he lost through perspiration as well as the fluid.

There was nothing satisfactory about the feeling; in fact, he found it rather unpleasant. The towel smoothed over roughed skin before he tossed it over his shoulder and closed the cap to his bottle –

'Yagami-kun!'

–and stifled a groan as someone ran up, interested in another game.

'No thank you,' he said politely, his tone revealing nothing else. 'I must be getting home soon and I do require a shower.'

'Yep,' another agreed out load. 'I'm sweating bullets out here. It must be over a hundred degrees out here.'

Raito bit back the automatic retort. It might not sound unusual to the American, ones who used the Fahrenheit scale, but a hundred degrees by the Celsius or Centigrade scale, the one more common in Japan, was the temperature at which water boiled. In any case, estimating the temperature was not something he endeavoured in on a regular basis; he only bothered when it came to adorning extra layers of clothing or removing them, and then it was a half-conscious decision. He saw no reason to change that routine.

And so he politely removed himself from his present company and showered before returning home.

* * *

Sachiko was there to open the door for her son, the smell of baked flour clinging to her as it always did. Raito always arrived at the same time, give or take about five minutes or do to allow for variations in traffic and being held up at certain intervals along the way, but he was never past his allocated time without calling ahead and informing her. And she always prepared something for him and Sayu. Slightly bitter for him. Much to sweet for her.

But Sayu it appeared wouldn't be home till at least dinner, for the smell of sugar was absent that day.

Sachiko let her son inside, watching him toe off his shoes as he always did, appearing to almost step out of them. She feared once he did do so but he explained that was not the case. The relief was evident, elsewise he would be stepping out of his shoes every step he took and one day, the English fairytale of Cinderella would become halfway true once he left a shoe behind on some busy street.

Once the bag was set down, she curiously held out her hand for the test paper, smiling at her son's grin as he handed it to her.

'Full marks again.' Her smile stretched into a proud beam as she stepped forward and embraced the teen, slippers scuffing across the surface. 'Oh honey, I'm so proud of you.'

Raito murmured politely as he embraced her back.

'I've made ginger cookies,' Sachiko continued on merrily, letting go and padding back to the kitchen. 'Sayu's at a friend's house working on an assignment, but she'll be home for dinner, and your father said he'll try not to be too late.'

She saw him upstairs with a plate of still steaming cookies and some coffee.

* * *

Raito sighed as he spread the textbooks on his desk, mental checklist rising to the forefront of his mind. A page of math questions that required mechanics more than anything else. A practical design in biology, assessing the enzymatic activity of catalase – quite straightforward if one actually understood the action. A short book response for English – peanuts for anyone who had started the language before entering junior high school. And some agenda planning for a school council meeting on the coming Saturday. They were only really time-consuming. He had an hour and a half before dinner (the Yagami household traditionally had dinner a little late in lieu of waiting for Soichiro for most occasions…when he actually showed up); he could certainly finish the first three in his list. Perhaps the fourth…but there was no need to rush. After assisting Sayu with _her_ homework, he would have a decent spell before night to cover any loose ends.

He pulled out his exercise book with a lethargic sigh and whizzed through his book report, regurgitating the thoughts that had flittered through his mind during the initial read with a little more flair and tact, before beginning on the math problems, mind blissfully blank. Chin rested unconsciously on his palm as his eyes blurred slightly.

The pen continued to scratch neatly away, ignoring its master's inattention.

* * *

Sachiko was somewhat surprised to find the cloth blank and Raito absent when she brought the first casserole to the dinner table. So was Raito when he came in to find the table half-set and Sayu rushing about as she attempted to slither out of her school uniform while tracking down her slippers.

'Homework a little much?' Soichiro asked, coming and easing off his tie with a single hand as the other forced papers into his briefcase. His wife gave an exasperated sigh as she tugged the work-related materials away.

'No work on the dinner table,' she scolded, returning with the pot of rice.

Soichiro shrugged off his coat before taking a seat at the head, barely catching Raito's shake of the head. He didn't elaborate however; it was possible his mother had finished cooking a little earlier and his sibling and father had been a little prompter. Or perhaps he had simply lagged in his own speed of homework, a notion which was possible but highly unlikely.

Sachiko brought the last of the food in and took a seat, her children taking the two opposing her. Dinner passed in the usual fashion; despite the no-work rule enforced, discussion always managed to eventually dance between Sayu's and Raito's school endeavours (Sayu more than her elder brother), and Soichiro's cases.

That day, there was nothing interesting contained with the latter, and Raito spooned the curry with inattention. It tasted fine; it always did, but the taste of food didn't change particularly much from day to day.

He wasn't surprised. It was to be expected; the alternative was his sister's rather…haphazard and spicy attempts. He also wasn't surprised to note he was full after about half his plate was consumed, but forced more spoonfuls until it was almost empty. None of that showed on his face however; it seemed he was enjoying his meal at a usual pace.

Except he'd disregarded his water, at least until Sachiko looked at him worriedly. 'Are you feeling okay, honey?' she asked, before leaning across and placing a cool palm on the other's forehead. 'You feel a tad warm.'

Raito felt his skin himself; he didn't feel sick. 'Maybe it's the weather,' he sighed, blinking at the tall glass of water before downing some. Normally he had a few gulps between his meal; somehow it had slipped his mind. Which was…surprising, as he normally didn't forget something so routine.

The water felt slightly cooler than normal, trickling down his throat. He wondered if breaks in routine were meant to be refreshing. It wasn't quite there yet, but it was a passable imitation. Barely.


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Ack, I'm so behind in everything. But I'm making progress. I think. *crosses fingers this doesn't happen again* On the bright side, I actually watched Death Note, so that should help my characters build up…

Raito is going to wind up contradicting Kira's ideals sometimes, but keep in mind he hasn't come into contact with the death note. I don't see him considering such action as Kira unless an opportunity to do so fell into his hands, aka. the notebook.

BTW, where I start talking about theoretical stuff, they're all legit. Stuff I studied at some point or other. High school this chapter. And yes, I did learn imaginary numbers in year eleven, in this case the equivalent of a junior.

Enjoy. :)

* * *

**_Regression_**

_Chapter 2_

Raito sat upon a seat in the empty bleachers after reigning victorious in the first set.

'You alright sempai?' his opponent asked him. 'You look a little tired.'

The brunet looked over the, ironically, upperclassman. 'I'm fine,' he said, unscrewing the cap of his water bottle and taking a few controlled gulps. 'This sun is brutal though.'

It was to be expected, with summer steadily approaching and turning the green grass grey. Although they had about a month before the rays really did become a constant menace, the present spring day was admittedly rather hot.

'True.' The upperclassman wiped his face off with his towel. 'To think we're going to have to play the championships in this heat.' Sunday's forecast was roughly the same as the Thursday they found themselves in. Actually, it had been a rather hot spring, with the occasional rain bringing brief and short term relief.

'Makes me glad it's the senior match,' Raito said with a forced grin, drinking a little more before replacing the cap. He could, after all, only drink so much before acquiring himself an unwelcome headache. 'Actually, I think I'll head home now. If I run after the ball any more I might wind up crawling in the streets.'

The upperclassman laughed, a little awkwardly. 'Am I that bad in returning the ball?'

'No, you're that good,' the junior champion, most untruthfully, replied as he wiped off and replaced his towel, bottle and racket into his sports bag. 'I'm heading home before it rains.'

'Rain in this weather?' The tone was incredulous. 'You've got to be kidding.'

'The meteorology bureau would disagree with you,' Raito pointed out.

'They're hardly ever right,' the other counted, though not particularly enthusiastically. After all, who would begrudge the rain? Except perhaps their mothers who relied on the sun to dry the laundry.

'They'll be right today,' Raito said with a degree of certainty. 'The air is definitely humid enough.'

'If you say so.' The upperclassman laughed again. 'Goodness knows my mother's rose tomato plants could use some rain.'

* * *

Raito had turned out to be correct, but that didn't surprise him. The sudden rise in humidity had been as good as a neon sign, and the clouds had only validated that. On their own, grey could easily be disregarded but it was a good validation for something already proven by another, unrelated, factor.

He was also right in leaving when he did; he was in his room before the rain started pattering at his window, and he was…not glad per say but relieved enough. It wouldn't have mattered a great deal though; he had to shower anyway, and he did so after grabbing a change of clothes and locking the door in case his sister came home and needed to use the restroom. Unfortunately, she had little sense of her elder brother's privacy – which Raito, except for a few select occasions, didn't really mind. After all, it wasn't as though he had anything to hide. Even if Sayu did accuse him of stealing all the "smart" things.

He'd spent fifteen minutes thereafter explaining kindly that, while extensive research had been done into the area, there was no material evidence to suggest that aptitude to knowledge was inherited through genes, or if genes had anything at all to do with academics beyond that of grafting the initial neuronal pathways of memory. As he explained, the nerves could be strengthened by constant stimulation and practice of them, therefore the original capacities were barely relevant to how somebody progresses along their academic career.

Unfortunately, Sayu didn't seem to understand, because she persisted each time she found herself stumped on a topic in class, or scoring below average on an exam while Raito had passed the same with almost full marks. But she'd be good-natured about it all.

'I'm going to be a hairdresser,' she'd declare. 'I don't need to get top scores for that, and you only live once.'

That was what stuck with Raito, amidst all the other things his little sister blabbed on about at the dinner table to keep the conversation alive. Because that was the exact opposite of his own life, focused almost entirely on study. Associates, but nobody he could call friends. Things he did to occupy time, but nothing he could really call a hobby.

But his parents always said that the final years of high school were the most important. Once he was in university, surely all that would change.

Surely.

* * *

Raito sat at his desk after his shower, hair slick from the cool water and smelling faintly of vanilla. His math homework was open, a double spread of questions on complex numbers and basic arithmetic of them. When the teacher had first mentioned them, a majority of the students had looked at him as though he had grown an extra head. After all, imaginary numbers sounded rather counterintuitive at first, but if one simply paused to think they made a great deal of sense. After all, it was the only way to explain the existence of infinity. The square root of negative one also allowed for a wider scope of algebraic proofs which lend themselves to a vast array of physical theories, so it was simply a wonder why they felt the need to call it "imaginary".

He'd entertained the notion for a while, but it was hardly an interesting trail to follow. So two classes afterwards he simply opened his exercise book and neatly began working out the sums.

Really, they were easier than quadratics once they were accepted into the general mathematic schema in one's brain. And so the questions were tedious, but he had no intention of slipping up and making a mistake where it counted simply because he had not practiced enough. The questions assigned would be good as a start; closer to the exam he would pursue, like he always did, the recommended sections and past exam papers to ensure the best breadth and understanding. It was a study style that got him top marks since his elementary school years, and therefore there was no logical reason to change that.

Halfway through the questions, his mother knocked on his door.

'Raito,' she said through the wood. 'The neighbours brought apples; I thought you might like some.' The door opened and her head peeked through. 'Oh, have you been studying all this time?'

Of course he had, and she should know that.

Sachiko brought the basket into the room and offered it to Raito. The brunet took one without looking, left hand working diligently despite the interruption.

'You should take a break soon.' She sounded a little worried. 'You did come home early, but you still look tired and I doubt the weather was any help.'

'Yeah,' Raito mumbled. 'Yoshimoto-sempai had me running all over the courts.'

While it was true that the other used the same suffix to address him, Japanese society dictated that, as an elder and an upperclassman, he used the same. Of course, that made the exchange a little pointless as it implied they were both senior and yet junior to the other. But he was Japanese, and such things were normal for the Japanese culture. After all, it was the same with classmates, calling them –kun or –chan, and then the workforce once he graduated and began work, preferably with the NPA. They didn't really speak for equality – but if there was equality, there would be no need for justice, no need to protect the weak. In essence, there wouldn't be any cause or effect without imbalance; it was the basic nature of the world.

But even imbalance was painfully organised on most occasions. He recalled the incident where a day-care centre had been taken hostage; while he felt the man's actions were not to be condoned and his arrest well deserved, he also felt that the panicked excitement of the children present had not been ill-felt as some others believed. Although they were young, anyone in their situation would, past the fear, be uplifted by the change in the usual mundane routine. That of course only worked when no-body was hurt; pain was after all not worth the reward. Part of the appeal, beyond giving safety to those lives that lacked it, was the less predictable schedule. Five days out of seven it was up in the air whether Soichiro would return home in time for dinner or not.

But his mother was right in needing a break; it was good for the brain, and the body. And he could use some sugar as a brain boost, and apples had plenty of fructose. And a break from his chair, even if it was to simply look at a blank ceiling for five minutes.

* * *

Raito awoke to his mother knocking on the door again.

'Dinner's ready.'

The door cracked open thereafter, and Sachiko came over. 'Oh dear, did you fall asleep?' She sounded amused however, not reprimanding as most parents would be. After all, Raito hardly ever did skive off studying, so it wasn't necessarily a bad thing to find he, for once, had.

Raito sat up and rubbed his eyes, the half-eaten apple tumbling away before he knelt down to stop it. Apparently he had fallen asleep.

Strange; he was not accustomed to doing so.

'You've been working awfully hard lately.' His mother sounded a little concerned. 'And I understand that with the nation-wide exams coming up, this is a particularly stressful time for you, but –' She knelt forward and brushed a bit of hair from his forehead. '– please don't overwork yourself.'

Raito smiled, even if in all honesty he felt no reason to do so. It was nice to hear his mother's worry; in a way, it was an open display of her love. But she said the same words so often to her father, and even to him on occasion, that the real meaning in them became obscured and thereby lost.

'I'm fine 'kaa-san,' he said. 'I guess it's just the weather.'

It was still warm in the room, despite the rain outside.

'Yes, it does feel somewhat like a sauna out there,' Sachiko sighed. 'All right then, come down for dinner.'

* * *

'Is there something wrong with the food, Onii-chan?'

Raito might have choked on his food a few years ago, but Sayu had long ago lost the ability to trick him like that.

'It's delicious like all of 'kaa-san's cooking,' he replied calmly, reaching for his water.

Sayu pouted. 'So that means you think my cooking stinks.' She stuck out her lower lip, before continuing innocently. 'But why is your plate still half full then? Or did you sneak in too many potato chips when 'kaa-san wasn't looking?'

'I did no such thing.' And he hadn't, therefore he had no need to whisper conspiringly like his little sister did.

'But she does have a point,' Sachiko said from the stove, finishing off the container she was packing for Soichiro who had called ahead to say he would be staying practically overnight for a case. 'You've barely touched your dinner Raito. And I know three bites from an apple isn't enough to fill you up.'

'Well, it might be the potato chips I had after all,' Raito said thoughtfully, pushing away his plate. 'I'm sorry 'kaa-san; I really am full.'

'Oh, it's alright,' Sachiko said.

But the truth was, Raito thought, frowning slightly at the plate. Had he eaten the potato chips he normally did? It was easy to assume he had, but he couldn't exactly recall whether or not he –

'Oh, Raito.' His mother's voice interrupted his musings. 'If you're done, could you drop this and a change of clothes for your father.' Her voice dropped off into a bit of a sigh. 'I imagine he'll be calling later saying he has to stay overnight.'

'Sure 'kaa-san.'

Sayu stuck her tongue out at her brother. 'I'd do it,' she teased. 'But I've got something _important_ to do.'

'It's okay,' Raito said, pushing a hint of exasperation into his voice. 'It'll be a good ride before studying again.' Because the parcel of food was a little too bulky to carry in his hands; his mother had probably packed some for the other members staying late with him as she usually did.

'Hmmph, you're boring.' Sayu pouted again.


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This is last month's chapter. Had trouble somewhere at the middle. I've started this one, so it might be out in the next few days. Fingers crossed anyway. I might as well put a dent into _one_ of my fics.

The comment about Matsuda is just Raito's initial perception; he's one of my favourite Death Note characters, and he'll show his true and awesome colours later on.

Enjoy, and sorry for the lateness again.

* * *

**_Regression_**

_Chapter 3_

Raito had considered taking his bike, but halfway to his father's office he found himself relieved he had chosen to walk instead. His reason was that it was simply still too warm out for such haste, and it was far more comfortable to just walk lazily in the humid weather.

He was surprised though to arrive back home after his errand to find the lights on.

'Oh dear,' Sachiko said, sounding relieved as she opened the door. 'I was wondering what was keeping you.'

Raito toed his shoes off without unlacing them, unusual for him as he was normally quite pedantic about little things like that. 'I was enjoying the ride,' he said, heading over to the sink to wash the sweat off his face. It clung insistently, the water droplets leaving him momentarily cold in their localised positions before evaporating and taking a little of the heat along. He sighed in disgruntlement and cupped his hands under the running tap instead, splashing his face and letting out a quiet sound of contentment at the comfort.

His mother was still watching him as he closed the tap and dried his face and hands. 'Are you sure you're feeling well?' she hedged. 'You're not acting like yourself today. If you're sick you can always stay home tomorrow.'

And do what?

'No thanks 'kaa-san,' Raito responded. 'I'm fine; it's just the weather, as I said.'

She smiled at him. 'Why not go to bed early then?' his mother suggested. 'You don't have anything important due tomorrow, right?'

'I've just got some things to finish off,' he mumbled, quickly grabbing a packet of potato chips to fuel him for later. 'Don't worry; I'll finish my work and then head to bed.'

And he would go to bed the same time he always did. Or so he intended. Unfortunately, it took longer than expected finishing his tasks.

Frustratingly longer, because they were so straightforward that he could, metaphorically speaking, do them in his sleep.

* * *

'Raito!' Sayu sung merrily, waltzing into her brother's room. She rarely got the opportunity, with her brother being as unrelenting as the clock in his routine on most occasions, but when she did, she savoured them immensely. After all, she would always be his little mischievous sister, and that gave her the privilege to wheedle him into doing her chores for her, begging for help in homework she couldn't manage (if only because her teachers weren't half as good as her brother)…and to wake him up in the most annoying way possible.

In Raito's case, it was singing in a high pitched voice, using that patronising tone that made one feel ten years too young.

And it normally worked, getting her brother up with a small scowl (well hidden) and a grumble (that escaped before his brain awoke to control the rest of him) and, very rarely, she received a pillow to the stomach while collapsing into giggles.

And then there was the time where she was four and he was home with the flu, in which case he just rolled over, mumbled something nonsensical and went back to sleep.

Which was what he did in the present.

Sayu knelt over the bed, poking her brother. 'Onii-san?' she said loudly. 'You're going to be late for school if you don't wake up.'

Which wouldn't be exactly bad for him. She couldn't remember him ever missing an attendance day. But of course, if she didn't get her brother up (or vice versa in most cases), their mother would be coming up the stairs with her spoon and frying pan.

Raito wriggled a little, and Sayu wished she had brought her camera so she could video tape. Although her brother could so easily erase all existence of such a record, half the fun was gone. And she couldn't keep a secret to save her life, so he was bound to know. Still, it wasn't often she got to see her brother looking defenceless and…well, cute, however every person's mask was stripped away in deep sleep to reveal the innocent child they all stemmed from deep down.

She smiled, then decided she could sneak in an extra five minutes, returning to the bathroom to fix her hair, yelling the excuse down to her mother.

But she got the same response when trying again, and this time she was a little worried because Raito hadn't gotten sick in a long time.

* * *

Sachiko sighed when no-one came downstairs; Soichiro was still at the office, so there was no-one in their bedroom, however both her children had school and should have been up. She heard the taps go on upstairs, so at least one of the two was awake, but it had been ten minutes and neither face presented themselves to her omelettes.

She yelled up to the two, and Sayu's voice yelled back down. She sighed, shaking her head. Sometimes that girl spent too much time trying to fix her hair.

Admittedly, sometimes Raito did as well, but that was typically when he had nothing else to do. Although he did spend an inordinate amount of time, for a boy, preening his appearance.

Still, it didn't hurt…unless they were both running late.

'Just hurry it up!' she cautioned.

Another five minutes passed, before Sayu hurried down, bag haphazardly packed and flying behind her. 'Onii-san's still sleeping,' she said, a little breathlessly, before blinking as the upstairs taps went on again. 'Oh, I guess not.' She laughed. 'I guess he didn't want to get out of bed.'

'Yes, we all have our days,' Sachiko agreed, hurrying her daughter to the table and the prepared breakfast. 'Now hurry up or you're going to be late.'

'I still have time.' Sayu's voice was a little muffled by the omelette she had put in her mouth.

'Yes, but I need you to take your father's breakfast and lunch to him.'

'Aww,' she complained. 'Then I'll have to run. Can't Onii-san?'

'He'll probably have to run anyway,' her mother pointed out. 'And if you remember, he took the dinner yesterday.'

'Yeah, yeah,' she mumbled, eating quickly. In truth, the only bit she minded was the running part; no real lady liked to run after all. It was more entertaining to add a little spice to the hurried sounds upstairs.

Though it was unlike him to be running so late, and Sachiko pointed that out as she fixed his collar and smoothed his hair…not that they really needed fixing, but it was a simple habit she liked to entertain, even with her children grown up.

Sayu took the opportunity to sneak in a tease…and lighten the mood, seeing as her brother looked the slightest bit annoyed at the pampering. 'You stayed up late,' she sung. 'Naughty naughty.'

'Yes Sayu,' the other sighed, and Sachiko accepted the reason. Still, she had an eye on her son's back as it vanished out the door. As a mother, she had natural instincts about certain things, and she didn't think the weather was the cause of Raito's break in his usual tradition.

Maybe he was coming to the teenage rebellion stage, she mused to herself, busying herself in packing her husband's meal. The timing was a little bad, considering how close the Nationals were, and they did define a person's career to a large extent – or at the very least, what sort of courses and universities were open to them. At the same time though, it was far from her to discourage such behaviour, so long as he stayed within the limits that were clearly outlined to him: no drugs, no dangerous driving etc.

If he was sick, he knew better than to hide it. After all, that was one thing their family shared in common; impatience. And no Yagami liked lying in bed warding off an illness that could have been mended far sooner with a few tablets.

Either way, it was a little worrying from a mother's perspective, and so she made a mental note to keep a close eye on him…and another to remind herself to ask Sayu about the math test she was going to sit later that day.

The third was to call the NPA later and ask when her husband planned to stop home…and see if she could wheedle him into taking a few days vacation once the case was over. Not only was it unhealthy to be in the office for consecutive days and nights, but it was lonely without her husband around.

* * *

Raito mentally berated himself as he hurried to school. He couldn't believe he had managed to sleep in. A small voice at the back of his head chided him, telling him he should have heeded his mother's advice. They knew best after all.

Except when it came to his studies, he argued back. He wasn't where he was today by being babied by his mother.

'But,' the other voice pointed out. 'Where exactly are you? Good grades, good looks, good reception. But so what? What are you going to do with all of that? Take over the world?'

Raito snorted. Unlikely; that would only come remotely close if he was in a position of relative power: politics or the police force, and both had their hands tied to an extent. Beyond that, politics, while being a battle of wits, was riddled with lies and deceit and didn't sit particularly well with him…although if he had to be completely honest with himself, he did lie when it suited him, or out of habit for certain things.

Like not being tired, because he was, and undeniably so.

In terms of career choices though, that only left police work, and it was a terrible waste if his grades got him into the best university in Tokyo…which was what he was setting himself up for.

'But why?' the cheeky little voice at the back in his head asked. 'What are you planning on doing with the best degree in the best university in Japan?'

He had no answer to that, because he often wondered the same thing. He didn't need straight As to be on the police force like his father. Take Matsuda for example; he had to wonder what academy the young man had graduated from, and what the NPA had been thinking, giving him a license. He'd met the man, and he was reminded more of a janitor than a police officer.

'Then why do it?' the voice asked.

'I want to,' he growled allowed.

'Apparently not very much, as you're late.'

And Raito looked at his watch, cursed when he realised that infernal voice was correct, and broke into a sprint. It was useless though as the bell had already gone, and therefore he was forced to accept the little yellow slip signing his first ever detention.


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N:** For those of you who don't know, you integrate log(x) by doing integration by parts. You know, you split the term in two, in this case (x) then have 1 as the term that gets integrated and log(x) as the term that gets differentiated. Variations of that would typically fiddle around with the x function or the base, as doing anything outside the log makes it a lot easier to integrate instead of harder. You don't need to know that, but that's just for the few people who have been told at school you can't integrate log functions.

* * *

**_Regression_**

_Chapter 4_

By fourth period, Raito had had enough. The words on the page were barely registering in his head, and he had to admit he was simply in no condition to be writing an essay on Japanese philosophy. The teacher apparently thought so to, as it took little to convince her to let him out of class.

Unfortunately, he left a trail of whispers behind him as he wandered slowly down the corridor, reluctant to enter the infirmary but at the same time left with little choice. Being caught out in the halls without a pass would lead to a detention: one over the one he had obtained from being late.

He groaned at that, before coughing a little. His throat felt a little irritated, as it had on and of for a while. Unfortunately, the feeling failed to go away from a single cough, and he decided some Tylenol (as they had nothing stronger and more manly in a school office, even if it was a senior school) at the very least wouldn't hurt.

He found himself thinking of the essay he would normally be writing the whole way through, despite getting no where relatively fast. It seemed almost instinctual, sitting in class and doing class work all day long, then falling into the same routine with relatively few breaks in the afternoons. But still it seemed his fingers were itching for a pen and his mind was scrambling for words, even as he waited in front of the nurse's office and she tended to another student with elbow scrapes.

Finally, she was ready to see him.

'Name?' she asked, looking him over.

'Yagami Raito,' Raito said glumly, though hiding it well.

She wrote the name down on her register, and then motioned the other to take a seat. 'You look tired,' she observed. 'And your pharyngeal glands seem to be a little swollen.'

She motioned the boy to tilt his head back a little.

'Yep, swollen.' She wrote something next to his name, before handing him a thermometer. 'This looks like either a cold or a virus; either way you shouldn't be at school.'

She gave Raito a stern look over her glasses, before her face softened. 'Of course, with the National exams coming up, some students feel a little more pressured to attend as much as possible. Though you have to rest adequately to be able to do the test to the best of your ability.'

She might have been using big words, but Raito didn't like how she was addressing him like a child.

Especially when she clicked her tongue when extracting the thermometer. 'You also seem to have a slight fever,' she said. 'Not enough to change the colour in your skin – though I'm surprised someone with your pallor isn't a little red – but enough to be noteworthy.' She finished the note and abandoned her pen, pointing through the door to the bunk bed set aside for students. 'Have a rest for the rest of the period and we'll see how you're feeling after that.' Her eyes narrowed as he failed to immediately obey her. 'And don't even think of asking for medicine young man; common sicknesses are better healed with rest.'

* * *

Raito lay on the bed, staring at the blank ceiling. He wished it was tiled instead of made from cement; that way he would be able to count the squares and alleviate his boredom a little. His non-existent essay had failed to progress; it was like the information he required was locked in a part of his brain that was temporarily off limits to him. It was aggravating too, as anything he did think about seemed nonsensical in the grand scheme of things – and the said grand scheme was just as elusive as his essay.

He was starting to feel rather impatient; it was unnatural to by lying around during the day when there were other things he should be doing. And yet…they weren't enough to motivate him; if he was feeling well, he doubted he would have any trouble at all finishing that essay, just as he doubted those math problems from the previous night would have taken as long as they had. He was sure he knew the answers to all the questions from that biology worksheet that was returned to him this morning with a B in the corner; some of the errors he found were plain idiotic, and he almost thought somebody else had written their name on his paper in order to dent his mark. But no; it was his handwriting, and his answers.

He tried closing his eyes and getting some sleep; he'd managed it the afternoon before after all (although that had been a slip he intended to never repeat again). But sleep would not come. Tiredness clung to his eyelids, making them just a little sorer each time he opened his eyes, and yet he found himself unable to drown into that never ending darkness.

Instead, he was kept awake by random thoughts. Mostly academic. Mostly things he had long since read and only recently covered in the school setting. Things he had been revising for the Nationals. Math and science and Japanese language…but in a random assortment, as if he had scrawled notes for all his subjects on a large white piece of paper.

It was annoying, because he knew the material but seemed, in that state, incapable of grasping anything profound. Although he was well aware there was nothing to discover; he was simply recycling facts in a seemingly random order: an exercise that assisted when it came to direct recall but not so much with application. But with the relevant knowledge in mind, it was easy to apply that knowledge to a prescribed setting. It was the setting he lacked, he thought to himself. The context in which to apply his knowledge. Some use for it.

And so there was nothing to be done but to lie there like a mannequin, hoping it was just a minor cold and a small lie-in would cure him of all symptoms and some paracetamol once returning home would put the bug out of business. But to his disappointment, his temperature had gone up instead of gone during the fourty minutes.

'I believe I told you to rest,' the nurse said disapprovingly.

'I didn't move,' Raito returned, a little rudely by his usual standards but the disappointment was very great. He didn't think he could stand another fourty minutes staring at the ceiling.

'I know you didn't, but rest normally means without thinking about anything.' She said it as if he wasn't aware of the definition. 'And it goes without saying that sleep is best, but it's obvious you won't be getting any here.'

If the thought that he was about to be sent back to class ever crossed Raito's mind, it was squashed by her next statement.

'I've called your parents and your father is coming to pick you up.'

* * *

Raito wasn't sure when the nurse started calling parents for petty colds but he certainly wasn't pleased, and apparently it showed in his demeanour despite his best efforts because his father's face sprouted an image of tired amusement.

He didn't like to imagine his father's reaction to the detention slip.

'I know you take your studies seriously…'

Well practiced restraint was the only thing that stopped him from groaning out loud.

'But you know your limits and you're old enough to balance these things. It becomes more important when you have a career and a family, but you need to make sure you're getting adequate food and rest between everything else you had to do.'

'You shouldn't be driving after thirty hours without sleep,' Raito pointed out.

'I assure you I'm planning on going straight to bed,' Soichiro counted, a little sternly as he turned into their driveway. 'I was leaving anyway…and I expect you to go straight to your room as well.'

'Yes 'tou-san.' His bag felt a little uncomfortable between his legs, but homework should be able to wait. His head was starting to pound a little, and he'd get more done if he got some sleep first.

Assuming he _could_ get to sleep. He envied his little sister, who could nod off in the middle of basic arithmetic. It was too bad counting backwards only ever succeeded in making him bored.

* * *

It felt like he had tossed and turned all afternoon. Many a time he was tempted to get up, but it wasn't as if anything else he had to do was interesting. Sure, he could spend a few hours doing variations of logarithmic integration, but it seemed largely unappealing. Especially since he knew it would take him longer than usual; he had no wish to spend any longer than necessary on things he already knew and would learn nothing from.

But his brain refused to rest, insisting that he still had his Japanese class, followed by mathematics and then physics. They were supposed to be covering partial integration, another thing he had long since mastered, and physics was a lab on collision. Perhaps one of the most juvenile labs possible in the subject. It would hardly consolidate his learning, as was the intention of the teacher, nor would it affect his mark in the least, but still he found his brain going through the equations and theories that related to the subject matter, punctured, on occasion, but an equation being methodologically integrated and then rearranged to give a partial integrated form.

And yet he must have fallen asleep at some point, as he was awoken to his door creaking open and his mother's soft voice in the air. His first instinct was to groan and curl back into the covers, but the thin coating of sweat that coated him made him shiver in the humid air.

'Are you feeling better?' Sachiko asked gently, nudging the door fully open.

Raito considered. 'No,' he answered finally, and truthfully. There was no point trying to pretend otherwise; even his mother would be able to tell the moment he stood in better lighting.

'Hmm…' She set whatever she was carrying down as Raito fought the urge to kick the blankets and came over to him. One cool hand went over his brow while the other smoothed away the damp locks. 'You're feeling warm.'

Well, of course he was. He had a fever.

Then he remembered what the nurse had said.

'Maybe we should take you to the doctor,' she said worriedly.

'It's just a cold,' Raito tried to say dismissively, an effect that was ruined by the hoarseness that punctuated his voice.

'Oh, your throat,' his mother said in dismay, picking up the tray she had left on her bedside table. 'I'll get you some syrup for that, but you really should eat something. You haven't even eaten any lunch.'

Raito wasn't hungry, but that was to be expected with how he was feeling and so he simply sighed, sat up and took the tray from his mother.

'Make sure you eat every bite,' she said sternly, before leaving him.

His stomach protested to that, but he forced a few spoonfuls into his mouth. He knew as well as anyone taking medicine on an empty stomach could cause adverse side effects, and beyond that the body used up more energy while fighting off illnesses than in the normal healthy state. Still, when the sixth bite threatened to expel itself from his throat with a tingling burn sensation, he gave up on the bland mix and lay back down.

He missed his mother coming back upstairs.

* * *

'Summer is hardly the season for the common cold,' Soichiro noted with a slight frown as Sachiko returned with the untouched cough syrup. 'Maybe it's a virus…or a bacterial infection, though I can't think...'

'They tend to pass,' his wife said, although the mother's worry showed in her posture and her tone.

'They do,' Soichiro agreed, thinking back to his experience with chicken pox. 'It might be a good idea to be checked by a doctor, just in case. It will make him better faster if nothing else.'

'Taidama!' Sayu's voice suddenly shouted from the hall.

'Shush,' her mother cautioned quickly. 'Your brother's sick.'

'Oh…' She blinked, remembering how he hadn't seemed interested in getting up in the least. 'Did he overwork himself?'

'It seems more like he's come down with some sort of infection,' his mother explained.


End file.
